Leave It On the Pitch
by AliBlack
Summary: When Page Adley made the Puddlemere United reserves five years ago, she hoped to someday make Pro. She expected tough practices, hard work, the fans, the game, and everything that one could ever imagine comes with it. What she hadn't expected was Oliver.
1. A Little Flying Practice

**Leave It On the Pitch**

Chapter One: A Little Flying Practice 

God, this was the most embarrassing day ever. Really. It's enough that I fell down the main stairs. Lucky for me it was during dinner time so no one was around. No one except Oliver. That's what made it worse. Worse than if everyone else in the whole camp saw. I didn't care if every member of the Puddlemere United Team, reserve and otherwise, saw. As long as Oliver didn't.

What terrible luck I have! Confound my blasted feet that fail me so! It's only when I'm on my feet; on the ground. Flying high on my broom, I'm smooth, graceful, and poised as a swan. Yet, the moment my feet touch the ground, all hell ensues. I have come to the conclusion that it is the Puddlemere United Training Camp's fault for having stairs in their facilities. Stairs and Page Adley do _not_ mix. When I get my own house, it's not going to have stairs lest they remind me of this day.

It's all the stress that I've had lately. It must be. For me, the most stressful time of year is autumn; the off-season. The time when every member of the regular and reserve teams are sent off for two full months of training and conditioning. Two full months were I am kept in close quarters with the man who makes my heart beat fast, the butterflies in my stomach flutter, and make me lose the coordination I expertly had on the pitch (me falling down the stairs is an excellent testimony to that): Oliver Wood. So anyway, before I begin to lose focus on what I was saying, there I was, lying face up on the floor, wishing I could disappear, when I heard his footsteps, quick and light, coming toward me. _Oh God,_ I thought. _Why? Why did he have to see that?_

"Oi! Page, are you alright?" I felt his fingers wrap around my arm and hoist me to my feet (oh, those bloody feet again). My eyes caught his and I'm sure I blushed, though he probably took it as embarrassment so I didn't think too much of it.

"Uh...yes. I'm ruddy brilliant. Damn stairs," I muttered. Oh yes, what a lady I am. Sometimes I can't help but curse. I really must work on that. He continued to look at me silently so, as an afterthought, I added, "Thank you."

"Are you sure you're not hurt?" he persisted. _Smile,_ I told myself.

"Absolutely. I'm quite used to injury." I looked up and grinned roguishly. "If I can survive the Falcons incident, then a couple of stairs isn't much at all." Oliver winced, thinking back to last season.

"That was an immense beating you took." He was right. That was an experience. It was a mid-season match against the Falmouth Falcons (a team known for their violence). I was in for Joscelind Wadcock, who had been out unconscious since the last match. After taking a right nasty elbow to the face (which broke my nose), I was hit by a Bludger in the chest and was nearly knocked of my broom. As luck would have it, fifteen minutes later, I took another Bludger to the face and was knocked out, falling nearly thirty feet to the ground. Luckily, we still won. Seems rough but this is not at all uncommon in the League matches. I guess I'm one tough bird. "Well, off to dinner then? I'm starved." He flashed a brilliant smile as I agreed.

"I can't wait for training to start," Oliver proclaimed as soon as we sat down. He was helping himself to basically everything on the dinner table. I soon followed suit. Oliver has a strange way about him. He is always anxious when it comes to Quidditch. That is to say, he never truly relaxes about it, no amount of practice being enough. I suppose that at one time, it would have seemed very unusual to people, but here he was quite at home. Here he can be neurotic about Quidditch with all the other neurotic people. As I said, he's got a strange way about him, and not in that the sport was always his top priority. Despite his desperate fixation on Quidditch, he is the most relaxed person I had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Although he is quite the perfectionist.

"Neither can I. I haven't felt so giddy since school," I joked.

"Now I still can't imagine why your father would ship you off to Beauxbatons when you live quite near Hogwarts in the first place." He had a point. I hardly understood the reasoning myself.

"Well, I think he was torn at first," I returned. "My mum, being the muggle she is, didn't understand the prestige of Hogwarts and just loved the idea of me speaking French. I suppose she just convinced my dad." I took a few bites of my chicken. "God, I hated all those prissy girls." I heard a snort from next to me and the following: "Weoam, waatt ferneded oot wooell venn." I turned to see Eddie Snyder, a reserve Beater, speaking through a mouthful of food.

"Ed, you might want to say that a little less clearly as I almost understood you." I gave him a good-humored smile as I heard Oliver laugh from across the table. Eddie chewed his food a bit more, swallowed, and then repeated himself.

"I said, that turned out good then. All those goody-goody girls and none of them on their school teams. Good preparation playing with the guys. You gotta be used to getting roughed up to make it in the League." Eddie knew what he was talking about too, and a couple years younger than Oliver and I at that.

"Good point," I affirmed. After a few minutes Eddie finished his dinner and went back upstairs.

"Every year I feel like I'm back at school, not being able to pay attention in classes, just waiting for Quidditch to start," Oliver voiced.

"Same here, only now there's no classes so there's nothing to do for a week." He laughed.

"Why do we even show up so early each year?" He mocked our behavior. "We don't have anything to do until Monday." His words certainly brought a smile to my face.

"In the futile hope that they'll start early without telling us?" I heaped more potatoes onto my plate. "There really is nothing to do around here." Glancing up, I saw Oliver looking at me, with that familiar glint in his eye.

"I've got an idea." I smiled. I love his ideas. "Up for a little flying practice?"

"Last one there's a Mountain Troll!" I shouted, jumping up from my seat, sending my chair tumbling behind. He scrambled from his seat too, nearly knocking over one of the younger players. Both of us dashed from the dining room out to the main hall.

"You know I'm going to win," I heard him pant.

"In your dreams, Wood," I replied. _Broom,_ I thought, as he turned to run upstairs to his room. I, on the other hand, continued on down the hallways to the back doors, calling out "_Accio Broom!_" After a moment, it caught up to me. Running out the door, I swung my leg over the handle and soared up into the sky. I was surprised I had made it that far without falling or something similar. Turning back to look over the building, he was nowhere in sight. I couldn't help but let out a cry of triumph.

"Took you that long, did it?" That was about the moment it found out how difficult it is to spin around on a broom as quickly as I would have liked.

"Oliver--how--"

"Oliver? What happened to 'in your dreams Wood'?" He laughed. "Never underestimate the speed of jumping out of bedroom windows." I couldn't help but crack up at that moment. It was times such as that that made me fall for him (oh, and don't be mistaken, I was not falling for Oliver. I fell a long time ago).

"Very clever. Well, you may have won the battle but the war will go to me." At that I shot off towards the pitch, weaving around every tree that I could find. He was right behind me the whole way, but couldn't catch up. "I thought I told you to ditch that old Firebolt and get the new 360!" I called back to him, referring to the new model; the Firebolt 360, fastest broom on the market. Phil, our team manager, was really encouraging everyone to get them for the advantage.

"It's in the post," I heard faintly from behind. When I reached the pitch, I weaved all around the stands, knowing that soon it wouldn't slow him down as much. He was catching up to me. I could feel it. I sent myself into a dive pulling up out of it quickly then rolling to the left. He was a bit thrown off but stayed close behind. Earlier I had teased him about his broom, but I know that it's about skill, not equipment; he was going to be able to catch me whether he had the 360 or not. At that point, I needed to do the only thing that Oliver wouldn't expect, so I set off toward the goal posts.

Were would he expect me to go? Weave between them, of course, so instead I aimed my broom right for the center hoop. It was big enough to fit through (just barely) and it might have been just crazy enough to work. I was almost there. Closer. Closer.

I made it! Albeit, I felt my foot nick the edge, but I made it! In my proud moment, I didn't notice that Oliver, too, had made it and, in my obliviousness, had caught up with me. I didn't realize it until he pulled me right off my broom. Good thing I wasn't afraid of heights or I would have fainted, and not had the chance to nearly wet myself. I clung to him like a goblin clings to gold.

"Calm down, Page," he said. "I won't let you fall." He turned so that I could swing my leg over the handle of his broom, behind him. Oh Merlin, I was on the back of his broom, holding on to him. I think that scared me more than the fifty-foot fall I almost took. He flew forward a bit and grabbed my broom, which luckily had stopped, and then took me down to the ground. "I guess I won that one."

"Damn, you're good." He handed my broom over, laughing.

"Come on, back up to the camp," he directed. "There's always next time."

_Well this was a strange day. Definitely capital B for Bizarre but great nonetheless. Until tomorrow._

Page Adley. 


	2. The Pros or Cons of Puddlemere United

**Leave It On the Pitch******

Chapter Two: The Pros (or Cons) of Puddlemere United

Gods, this was the most stressful day EVER. Yearly announcements are always difficult. Losing teammates, gaining new ones, promotions; it's hard on everyone. I remember being recruited on the team. It was the summer after graduation when Phil, the team manager, offered me a place on the reserve team. Funny enough, I turned him down at first. That's right; Page Adley is a right nutter. In my defense (even though I am the one calling myself a nutter and therefore am defending myself from myself, which proves I'm downright mad) I was always a Kenmare Kestrels fan. Luckily, I came to my senses and signed up. That was five long years ago. That was when I met Oliver; both of us straight out of school and playing in the League. He was the Team Captain at Hogwarts. I wasn't a captain. Never did have that leadership quality, come to think of it. I mean, I can barely keep my life in order; a team under my control would really be in for it. I remember not thinking too much of him at first. He was just another teammate to me. Friendly as hell, though. But you really couldn't help but notice him. He was always excited about Quidditch. You could tell it was always his life and now it was how he made a living; a dream come true. I think it was his passion for his career that first attracted me to him.

Oh and listen to me go on like a lovesick fool. Anyhow, today's announcements...

"Alright, alright, everyone settle down." Phil stood on top of the main stairs while all the players gathered at the bottom. A few people got louder just to get on his nerves.

"On with it Philbert!" I called out from the back, evoking a few laughs.

Phil glared at me before continuing on. "Alright, I have a few announcements to make. First of all, no more bologna slices are to be stuck to the dining hall ceilings and secondly, no more belongings of other teammates are to be stolen, flown up to the roof and/or scattered on the pitch." He paused to look around the room.

Don't look at me. I didn't put the bologna anywhere but on my sandwich. Okay so there was that one time but it was all Oliver's idea.

Phil cleared his throat. "Anyway, to the _important_ announcements. For the first time in three years, some of our teammates will be retiring. I think we should all give a hearty farewell to Troy Digmon and Elise Hyde." A good round of applause filled the room as the two ascended the stairs and stood next to Phil. "And you know what that means: There are positions for promotion.

"This year's lucky two are..." Oh yeah, drag it out. I looked around. The room was incredibly tense and everyone seemed to be holding their breath. "Eddie Snyder for Beater." Eddie let out a whoop and went to stand by Digmon. "And for the position of Keeper, Oliver Wood." Oliver nearly fell over—no wait, he did fall over.

"Great first action as a pro, Wood," I whispered while giving him a hand up. He almost ran up the stairs next to Hyde.

"A round of applause for the rookies," Phil rang out. We obliged happily and that was when it hit me that I was still a reserve player. Eddie was a pro and Oliver too. I was the only one of our close group left back. We wouldn't be playing on the same level. They were promoted.

"I can't believe it," Oliver mumbled later at lunch, staring helplessly at his food. Everyone was still talking excitedly about the promotions and retirements. The usual clinking of silverware and glasses was echoing twofold in my head with all the other thoughts dancing around in there as well.

"I can," I told him finishing the contents of my plate as quickly as I had put them on. "You're one of the best Keepers I've ever seen. Of course you'd get the promotion."

"It still seems so surreal. I mean, I had fantasies about this in school," he pushed.

"We all have." I glanced over at Eddie whose eyes were glazed over and trained on the wall. "Gone catatonic, Ed?" He didn't answer and I took this chance to muse over which one of the pro Chasers would be the easiest to take out.

"I can't eat anything." Oliver interrupted my thoughts as he shoved his plate forward.

"Well, it's not good to waste the food," I told him, pushing its contents onto my plate. What? So I eat when I'm depressed. Leave me alone. Oliver buried his head in his hands, ran them through his hair and covered his face again. Moaning in self-wallowing pity, he spoke through his fingers.

"Merlin, all my plays are no good. I need to make up new ones." He dropped his hands and when he looked up at me, I noticed that he had successfully caused his hair to stick up awkwardly.

"Nice styling job there Oliver."

He tried looking up at it, screwing his eyes up in the process, and making me burst out in laughter. He self-consciously smoothed his hair down, colour seeping into his cheeks.

I eyed Lyall Cross for a moment, sizing him up. He's a big guy but quiet. I'd much rather he…ahem… Accidentally trip down the stairs than Joscelind. Not that I don't like him, it's just that Joscelind is much too nice. After a few moments Oliver sunk back into sulking.

"All..." Bang. "My plays..." Bang. "Suck." I turned to the source of the noise, and caught sight of Oliver. Oh Gods! I take my eyes off him for one second and he starts banging his head on the table! 

"Oliver, calm yourself." I caught his head, saving it from the unforgiving table. "Your plays don't suck. They're amazing. You're a master strategist."

"Laying it on a little thick aren't you, Adley?" He cocked an eyebrow at me.

"Absolutely not, Wood!" I pretended to look shocked. "You write the best plays the world has ever seen. Your awesomeness is so awesome that it burns the other teams' retinas." 

"Really?" he responded sarcastically as I nodded back.

"Awesomely."

"You need a thesaurus," he mumbled. The corners of my mouth twitched into a frown.

"I'm surprised you know what a thesaurus is, Mister I-Just-Barely-Passed-My-N.E.W.T.S."

"What?" He eyed me strangely.

"Surprised; shocked; taken aback; in a state of general disbelief."

"That hardly makes me feel better."

"Sorry. I forgot what I was trying to do." Ok, not truly sorry. I mean he's just made a pro team and I'm comforting him!? _Oh, poor Oliver. You're a pro now. Oh, you're going to be famous and have thousands of fans. Oh, you're going to go down in sports history. Poor bloke, why didn't I think to pity you before!?_ It's him that should be comforting me. I mean he, Eddie, and I are best friends and I'm the only one left out. This sucks.

All of a sudden I heard a sharp intake of breath and then, in a trance-like sigh, Eddie breathed, "I'm a pro now."

I blinked a few times before speaking, as I had forgotten he was there. "Oh really," I replied, almost laughing. "Just figured that out?"

"I think so." He was still staring at the wall ahead of him. I almost laughed but catching sight of Oliver again, turned it into a sigh.

"I'm going out." I pushed my plate away (the same plate on which sat the food I had stolen from Oliver) and stood to leave.

"Where?" Oliver began to stand up.

"Just out." I pushed my chair in as I mechanically ran my hand through my hair. It fell back on my eyes and I let out a burst of breath to move it back. The simple gesture seemed to add to my feeling insignificant and invisible. Thank you, hair, for your _ever so comforting_ unruly gesture. Oliver looked a bit put out at my being short with him.

"Well, can I go?"

"I think I just want to be alone." He furled his eyebrows but sat back down in his seat. He looked like he was trying desperately to make up new plays, the way he seemed so deep in thought. Good. Then maybe he'll shut up about it.

I went up to my room and followed Oliver's advice: I jumped out my window. I had my broom of course (Ha. Got you there for a second! Admit it...). I went sailing through the woods quietly; slow enough so I could appreciate the nature but still a good pace. After a bit, I soared down to the pitch. I turned over on my broom so I was on my back and circled the field. I found that if I placed the sole of my right foot on the bottom of the broom handle I could push it enough to steer to the left. I stayed like that for awhile; just going around and around looking up at the clouds. It certainly calmed me down.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. I mean, it's no one's fault really. So a couple of players retired. There were no Chaser positions open. There's always next year. There's always filling in when someone's hurt... I can survive. See, I don't need anyone to keep me sane. I can keep my pessimism in check myself.

I closed my eyes and took a deep soothing breath. I had been so serene until something broke the silence, almost undoing all the relaxation I had just strived for.

"Page, are you alright?" came Oliver's voice from what sounded like a good ways away. My throat tightened and I felt my muscles tense. Damn my anxieties. Turning my head and opening my eye just a bit, I saw him standing in the middle of the pitch, watching me. Good thing he didn't sneak up on me. I'd have fallen off my broom.

"Do I look in distress Oliver? I'm fine." I desperately tried to keep the calm feeling that was quickly slipping through my fingers. He slipped his leg around his broom and soared up to meet me. He followed my smooth circling motions for awhile, leaning forward on his broom and resting his chest on the handle lazily.

"Why are you being like this today? This should be an awesome day for me," Oliver interrupted the silence once again. Oh, he did not just say that… _Me_? Being like _this_ on _his_ awesome day? 

"And it's my fault for ruining it because I was the one saying how much it sucked." I retorted, eyeing him with annoyance (something I'd never thought I'd feel towards him). 

"Er...well—" he began.

"No, I wasn't the one who tried to cheer you up when I was the only one of us three to _not_ get promoted."

"Oh Merlin, Page, I'm sorry—"

"Now honestly, Oliver, why wouldn't I be just peachy?" I unclenched my jaw when I felt how my teeth were hurting from the pressure. I hadn't even realized how set it was.

"I didn't think—"

"Oliver, I'm fine," I sighed, stopping him with a wave of my hand. He tilted his head to the side and looked at me disbelievingly. "Really!" I insisted. "I thought my way through it by myself. I'm going to be there, every match, cheering you two on and, hey, maybe next year..."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

I took a deep breath. "Yes. I'm lovely."

Oliver cracked a smile. I don't know why really. It was quite a serious situation.

We kept circling the pitch for another hour or so in comfortable silence when we headed back up to dinner.

_There's always next year._

Page Adley


	3. Practice Makes Life Interesting

**Leave It On the Pitch**

**Chapter Three: Practice Makes Life… Interesting**

Gods, this was the most exhausting day ever. All the muscles in my body ache but I just love getting back to practicing. It makes me feel great; a bit tired maybe, but great nonetheless.

Well, enough of that. Does anyone hate being woken up in the wee hours of morning for no apparent reason? Well, I do. I hate that. I like to get all the sleep I can, and I'm just naturally not a morning person. Still, that's what people seem to love to do around here. Wake me up, I mean. It's like everyone wakes up in the morning with the thought, "Let's wake Page up as early as possible!" in their heads. Had it been anyone else I would have thrashed them…

For goodness sake...

I was rudely awakened by someone banging on my door, shouting, "Let's go Adley! Time to get up!" Falling out of bed and stumbling across the room, I wrenched the door open. Through blurry vision, I saw Oliver standing before me, a wide grin on his face. He was fully decked out in his practice gear, already holding his broom.

"Oliver!?" I exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Time to get up."

"It's five o'clock in the bleedin' morning!"

"Nice robe," was all he said, looking down at the silk kimono I was wearing. I promptly wrapped it tighter around my body, hiding the tank top and shorts underneath. He then walked into my room, which amply surprised me, to say the least.

"Really, Page, first day of practice and you were going to lie in? I think you're slipping." Oliver looked over to see my jaw drop at his comment. He laughed and added that he was just kidding. Pulling open the second drawer on my dresser, he began to pull out my practice gear. (For the record, I have no idea how he knew which drawer it was in.)

"What in the name of Merlin are you doing?"

He looked at me, surprised. "You have to put your stuff on and get ready."

I walked over and pulled the clothes out of his hands. "I am free to get up anytime I'd like, thank you very much. Breakfast isn't until nine; practice at ten. So there is no bloody way that I will trade much needed sleep for early practice, except maybe through divine intervention."

He only smiled and took the clothes back, placing them on my bed. Afterwards, he walked back over and messed up my hair.

"Brush your hair, get dressed, and I'll meet you downstairs," he said softly, and then turned to walk out.

"I'm going back to sleep," I told him defiantly. Oliver shook his head and laughed, just as the door shut behind him. I stood in place for a moment, running my hand over the top of my head where he had touched me. With a scoff, I threw myself down on the bed and pulled the covers over me. After a few minutes I had not fallen asleep and I looked down at my gear that still lay at the foot of my bed. It was obvious that I wasn't going to go back to sleep.

"Damn that man," I mumbled, getting back up and grabbing my clothes. I then brushed my unruly hair and I pulled it back with an elastic band. It was just barely long enough to do so; I usually have it short but my mum nagged me to grow it out. I grabbed my broom and marched downstairs to find Oliver leaning on a banister, a Quaffle tucked neatly under his arm. He smiled smugly when he saw me.

"Wha..." I began (intelligently, I might add). "I told you I was going back to sleep."

He smiled. "I know you better than that, Adley." And with that, he turned and headed down the stairs. I followed him saying it was bad to practice without eating first. Oliver laughed. "I couldn't eat if I wanted to. First day of practice makes me nervous." He was right. I could see that neurotic look in his eyes already. Knowing him, he might break down by the end of the day.

The schedule at the training camp is as follows: Breakfast is at nine, followed by practice, which consists of drills, technique and scenarios, and then from ten until one we have lunch. After lunch is more practice, from two until five. At six, after dinner every other day we are expected to work out. It's basically strength training and endurance. This is a shock for most players new to the League but you get used to it. In school, you just practice when you can and play the games, but here, this is our career and we take it seriously. We have to train our bodies to be able to have the strength to do all the complicated maneuvers we learn. And unlike school, it's not uncommon for matches to last all day or even into the next day (or the next couple days). We can't have our muscles uncooperative when we have a long match to play.

I remember when my mum found out how hard we worked. She's used to all the muggle sports where the games last for a few hours at the most, so Quidditch was an entirely new experience for her. She told me after the first match I played that we were true athletes. That meant a lot to me since she's never really approved of my choice of career; she had wanted me to be a dancer or something equally girly. It didn't really make her happy when she found out I was getting knocked around on a broom and breaking something every few weeks.

Anyway, we have this long day ahead of us and Oliver wants me to get up at five and get to work? I'm going to die, I thought.

"Gods, Oliver!" I yelled when we got outside. "The sun isn't even up yet! It's dark! It's still night!" I thought of my nice warm bed, thinking about how I should still be sleeping instead of walking down the grounds to the pitch. BUT (yes, there is almost always "but" to everything) at least I was with Oliver. I looked over at him and contented myself with the fact that he had beautiful eyes. Not many people can pull off the brown eyes so magnificently. Usually they look dull or plain. Like mine.

"Don't you ever stop complaining?" He raised an eyebrow and smiled, and it certainly shut me up. He had meant it in a friendly way so I didn't say anything back. My stomach growled audibly and Oliver glanced over.

"I suppose you're hungry?"

I nodded vigorously.

"Sorry, I guess I forget that other people like to eat regularly. You really should have breakfast." Once we got onto the pitch, Oliver pulled out his wand and after a moment, we had a small picnic. It wasn't much but I thanked him all the same. After I ripped through a bit of eggs and toast, I looked over at Oliver who was just sitting there.

"You should eat something too," I told him.

He shook his head. "Come on now. You'll play much better on a full stomach." He refused once again so I picked up a piece of toast, slathered it with his favorite orange marmalade, and waved it in front of him.

"You know you want it," I sang as Oliver smiled softly at me.

"I don't feel like eating."

"Oh please, you eat like a hippogriff when you're not worried about playing. Just one piece of toast and I'll feel much better. You need your strength."

"What are you, my mum?" he asked but grabbed the toast and took a bite of it.

"Well, that would be quite difficult considering you're five months older than me." Just then I was hit with a strange bit of light and looked up to see the sun beginning to peak up over the horizon. Merlin, it was beautiful. I smiled over at Oliver and saw him with a knowing little smirk of his own. "Oh, you sly devil. You planned this." I gave him a light, playful shove.

"Maybe," he mumbled. "I figured you wouldn't like getting up this early so it thought that would put you in a much better mood. Plus you don't get to see the sunrise often, since you lie in so much." Suddenly he stood up, grabbing my hand and pulling me with him. "Come on," he said handing me my broom and then soaring off into the sky. I followed him up very, very high until we were in the clouds. He pointed back to the sunrise and when I looked it took my breath away. The clouds were shining orange and red, framing the yellow orb. I thought it was beautiful from the ground but it was ten times more magnificent up in the clouds. After watching it for awhile, I began to shiver from the lack of heat and we returned to the ground.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Oliver asked while we were cleaning up the food.

"Because you're awesome." He smiled. "Damn, Oliver, if this is what you'd do for a friend, imagine what you'd do for a girlfriend." Gods, I wish I was that girl. He seemed to suddenly concentrate on the clearing charms as his smile faded.

"Yeah," he mumbled vaguely. "Just imagine..."

I soon found the reason he wanted me up so early was so I could help him warm up and get some extra practice time in. He said he wanted some practice with a talented Chaser but I saw past his flattery. I knew he was just nervous. Poor, poor, (cute) nervous Oliver. I had him race me around the pitch for awhile then I told him to tend to his goal posts. I had him block the ring that I called out.

"Right!" I yelled and he darted there. "Center, no, right again!" Oh, darn, thought I had him. He's a quick bugger, I'll give him that.

Soon I told him to try it with his eyes closed and to my never ending surprise he could still cover them with dead-on accuracy. He really knows his job well. I swooped down and grabbed the Quaffle while he wasn't looking, trying to figure if he'd even notice if I threw it.

"Left!" I yelled then hurled the ball toward the right goal. _Oh, bugger all!_ He'd stopped it.

"I know your little tricks, Page." He said tossing it back. "I can hear the Quaffle when there's no crowd around. Otherwise it may have worked."

"Well hopefully you won't be closing your eyes during a game. And don't call me Page while we're on the pitch. I'm only Adley here." _I'll show him. Knows all my 'little tricks,' does he? Alright, let's see him save it when I use a Page Adley signature move._

I looked at the Quaffle, tossed it up and caught it, getting a feel for it again after a few weeks without even picking one up. And plus my gloves are new and not broken in yet. I guess I kind of miss my old ones but they have holes in the palms from being worn down. I suppose I knew the end was near for them though. I've had them ever since my sixth year at Beauxbatons. C'est la vie.

I slowly flew back and forth, trying to decide which goal to score in. Oliver stayed steady in the middle, only his eyes following me. _Well, I just feel cocky._

"Hey Wood, I'm going for the center hoop."

"Yeah, like I'd fall for that, Adley." I shot close and once I was within range, took my hand off my broom. I threw my fist out toward his face and for a split second Oliver's eyes were crossed staring at it in utter fear and surprise. Making sure I didn't hit him I drew my fist back and in the moment he was distracted, I swerved around him and scored.

"Center hoop." I repeated.

"Transylvanian Tackle," Oliver sighed like he should have known.

"If you knew all my little tricks you'd remember that I was known for it at school."

"I knew that."

I shrugged. "You win some you lose some."

He didn't say anything, but rolled a shoulder back in an attempt to stretch it out, and reset to try again. I worked him hard and almost felt bad about it, but he worked me hard right back. Gave me a good run for my money And Merlin, he gets better every season. He beamed at breakfast later when I was nearly passed out on the table, and he was still quite awake. I don't understand it. One minute I'm wide awake, and then the moment I sit down, I'm slipping into my breakfast.

"Sit up, Page. You're going to get eggs in your hair if you don't."

"And you're going to get a fist in the jaw if you don't let me nap."

"Oh, don't be crabby again." I turned my eyes up to see him smiling smugly as he shoveled food into his mouth.

"Well, just because some people require rest…" I mumbled and commenced in drifting in and out of sleep for about fifteen minutes, uninterrupted. Soon I felt Eddie sit down and heard his fork grate across his plate; a sure sign he had just rolled out of bed and plodded down to the dining hall. _See, Oliver lets _him_ sleep…_

"Oh, don't mind me trying to sleep here…" I muttered into my arm as the unearthly screeching from the utensil and plate reached my ears for the sixth time.

"Go to bed earlier," Eddie quipped back, his voice dripping with the remains of slumber.

"Well, if I was allowed to lie in as long as I liked—"

"You know, as much as I enjoy the witty banter of the sleep-deprived," Oliver cut me off. "We've only got five more minutes of breakfast and the both of you have barely touched your plates."

"Well, if _he_ hasn't, then _Eddie's fork_ sure has been touching his plate an awful lot." The corner of Eddie's mouth twitched and grew into a full-blown smile.

"Page, you have eggs in your hair," he nearly laughed.

"What?" I sat up and touched my hand to the back of my head where, sure enough, a good bit of my scrambled eggs had happily relocated. _Oh, bugger all…_

Soon, we had gotten back up and I staggered back to the pitch, yawning the whole way. At least this time it was a team-sanctioned practice with everyone there.

We started out by doing drills. Timed flying, passing/catching drills, maneuvering; the usual. After an hour or so of that, we broke off into two groups: pros and reserves. The pros took one side of the pitch and we took the other. After a few separate drills they called seven reserve players over, including yours truly. Everyone was paired off with a pro and I was with Oliver. Go figure.

The point of the exercise was for the pro to do whatever it is that they do while dealing with the opposing player. In our case, I was trying to score on Oliver. He blocked almost every shot I sent his way.

I faked throwing it his way, but instead dropped it down and kicked it through the hoop. It nearly took his head off, at its speed. _Thank you, mum, for making me play football as a kid._

"Damn, girl..." Oliver muttered as I nearly slipped from my broom laughing. Just then we heard a crash and a cry of pain. We both looked over at where another Chaser had collided with a reserve player. His arm was clearly broken. A medi-wizard had rushed out onto the grass as he landed and quickly mended the wound.

"Cross broke his arm," I said.

"Again?" Oliver sighed, which made me laugh once more.

Two hours later, we shuffled into the building for something to eat. Phil caught me on the way in. "How'd practice go?" he asked excitedly.

"Cross broke his arm already."

Phil sighed. "Again?"

"Yeah. But other than that pretty good."

"That's good. How about you? Watching out for the Bludgers?" he laughed.

"Yes, I am," I mumbled, narrowing my eyes. _Don't patronize me!_

"Remember, I told you to work on your roll."

"I know." Phil made to walk away but then stopped.

"Oh, what about Wood and Snyder? What do you think? Are they up to par this year?" _Oh, rub it in why don't you?_

"Absolutely. Eddie's never been better and you know Oliver. Perfect isn't good enough." I smiled in spite of myself.

"Just as I thought. I'll go talk to some of the other pros and see what they think."

Lunch never tastes as good as it does just after practice, nor do you ever so much appreciate the sweet life-sustaining nectar that is water.

Second practice went much the same. They picked some more players from the reserve (I wasn't one this time) and they had a match. It's not really all that challenging because of the differences in skill levels (the pros absolutely creamed the reserves) but it's still something. As much as I love to practice, I suppose I was relieved. The extra morning session reeked havoc on my poor muscles. So, luckily, I was able to just lounge on the bleachers with a group of the other reserves and every so often we yelled out to the players.

"Keep your arm in Sinclair!" yelled Sepiro, a fellow Chaser and all-around, cocky, arrogant, little piece of…oh, ahem… I mean another reserve Chaser a year younger than me, who thinks he has twice the knowledge. "You'll get it taken off." He and one or two guys around him laughed, thinking it was one of the funniest things they had heard.

"As you were, Sinclair!" I shouted at the young man, who was looking around confused. Poor new kid. His first day of practice with the reserve team and he's already being mocked. Sepiro turned around and stared up at me in surprise and contempt.

"He's keeping his arm out slightly to brace for an impact." I said before he could ask. "It's regulation style if you'd read the handbook or listened to Phil."

He narrowed his eyes at me then turned around, crossing his arms absentmindedly in front of him. I sat a little straighter and prouder knowing I had gotten the best of him, until I heard him mutter, "Stupid tart" under his breath. Oh, that cocky bugger…

After heading a bit farther up the stands to escape thoughts of strangling Sepiro (as I might get reprimanded or something by Phil) I relaxed once more and kept my focus on Oliver for a bit. He was so good. I really can't think of anything to say other than that. He was just plain GOOD. I felt something I didn't know I could feel in this situation. As much as I had, at one point, been jealous, I felt proud. I'm just so proud of Oliver. He's at the top of his game. He's so happy and for some reason that makes me feel the same. Ugh, I wish I could just be angry. It'd be so much easier if I could just be mad, but I'm not. I'm proud. Damn whatever estrogen is in my system and the way female minds work. Hell, I don't even understand me half the time.

By dinner, even Oliver was exhausted enough to eat. You know, although eau de sweaty man is not especially my favorite scent, it does make for an excellent sight, particularly on him. I mean, hair matted to face, perspiration on neck…uh…I should stop myself now. Afterwards I went straight to bed, worn-out from the sudden inclusion of exercise in my schedule. After what I assume was a few hours time I experienced deja vu as a loud sound woke me. Someone was banging on my door. _Not again._

"Oliver, I swear to the Gods—" I shouted, sitting up, but was cut off when the door burst open and two hooded figures dressed in black ran in. One threw me over his shoulder and carried me from the room while the other followed. "What in the bloody name of Merlin—" but I stopped when I was silenced by a spell. I felt the rest escape my mouth but could no longer hear it. If this was real – I mean if I was truly being kidnapped – it would be no laughing matter. That thought had, occurred to me but from the view I had, well… the bum near my face looked quite familiar… Well, of course I'd know that bum anywhere! Oh, that bloody jerk! Waking me up in the middle of the night…I mean early evening… well, still!

"Oliver!" I screamed to no avail. I settled for wiggling until he could hardly hold me. Pausing in the main hall (after bumbling down the stairs which was in no way pleasant for me. I mean if you're holding someone like that, it'd be a lovely gesture to brace them so their face doesn't almost come in contact with your bum. Even if it is very nice.) in an alcove next to the stairs, he set me down and removed his mask.

"Gods Page, why must you make everything difficult…" he whispered wiping the forming sweat droplets from his brow.

"I make everything difficult!?" I mouthed, still no sound coming out. _Oh, he really thinks that? _Wow, I'm worse at this subtle wooing process than I thought. For three years I've bided my time thinking that with each passing day he's slowly stepping into my trap, and maybe, just maybe… but he just finds me difficult. He must have seen my eyes widen considerably because he quickly apologized and said he didn't mean it.

"Now you have to be quiet or we'll get caught." he continued. I furled my brows in bewilderment at the both of them.

"We're sneaking out." Eddie whispered a little too excitedly and it echoed through the halls. Oliver smacked Eddie in the arm hard enough so that echoed as well.

"Not if you don't hush up." Oliver kneeled down next to where I was seated against the wall. "You're not going to give us away right? I trust you." I affirmed this and then removed the spell. "Now let's go."

"But I'm tired," I whispered, remaining where I was. He seemed to debate something then asked if I wanted him to carry me the rest of the way out of the anti-apparition area. Never one to turn down a good offer like that I nodded. I was hoisted once again into his arms. _Sigh, those muscular, beautiful…ahem…_ Anyway, once we were there we apparated our favorite place ever. The Pub.

It's actually called McGullian's Pub but to all the Puddlemere United members, it is simply The Pub. That's where we go to celebrate wins and drink away losses. And Merlin help any wayward soul from another team that staggers in. It was a shock to see how little people were in there. We're used to it being so packed you could barely move but then again that's after a match and usually around ten or eleven at night. This was seven o'clock on a Monday. Not a high traffic kind of time. Even more surprising was who was sitting at the counter when we arrived…

"Well look who we have here." Eddie clapped a hand on the shoulder of his fellow pro Beater, Arnie Burke, startling him.

"Merlin, Snyder!" he gasped. "Don't sneak up behind me. You'll get decked next time." _Psh, men… always so violent._ Oh wait; hadn't I said something similar to Oliver earlier? Well… _Psh, Quidditch players… always so violent._

I hate it when I contradict myself.

I, being still tired, quickly took a seat next to Arnie. Eddie sat on his other side and Oliver, next to me. I ordered a Firewhisky. The great thing about that is, either it'll wake me up or I'll still be tired, but I just won't care.

"What'cha doing sneaking out, Burke?" Eddie continued. Arnie raised an eyebrow and downed a shot. I could see it in his eyes. He had been there awhile. Had I been sitting next to Eddie, he would have received a swift and hard shot in the arm. Word around camp, like in school, travels fast and word was Arnie's wife had filed for divorce last week. Poor guy, not that it's uncommon for players, especially pros. I mean, daily practices, high profiles, the two months every year at training camp where only owls are allowed even between husband and wife. It is hard on relationships. I know. And I'm only a reserve.

"I needed a drink," Arnie said gruffly brining the glass up to his lips once more.

"_A_?" Eddie returned obliviously. "It seems like you've had more than one. Why the long face, mate?" Oliver swiftly grabbed a pretzel from the bowl on the counter and whipped it at Ed. It struck him dead between the eyes. "Oww! What the hell?" Eddie suddenly straightened up, a look of realization overtaking his features. "Oh, sorry…" he mumbled.

Like I said, poor guy, and Eddie's being a moron…

"I guess I'm not the only one who needs a drink." Arnie said shrugging off Eddie's idiocy and looking at each of us, then his shoulders seemed to slump further forward as he trained his gaze on the counter once more. I caught Oliver nodding as the bartender set his drink in front of him.

After a good hour of pointless stories and quietly enjoying time not spent locked away in training camp, I tried to catch Oliver's eye. Unfortunately he was too focused on his argument with the bartender whose name I didn't know about the Arrows' last season. Usually Jake, the owner was there. I tipped my head towards Arnie and mouthed 'let me talk to him alone' to Oliver. He nodded in understanding.

"Hey, assface," Oliver said, referring to Eddie. "Come over here and play darts with me." _Wow, guys are so… I don't even know how to describe it._ _I want to say subtle but somehow I don't think that's it…_

"Alright, prick…"

_Ok, stupid. Stupid is definitely the word. _I shook my head and turned to Arnie once more.

"So how are you doing? You gonna be ok?"

"I'll be fine," he said with a sad sort of smile. "It's just going to take awhile." I patted him on the shoulder softly then he dropped his face into his hands. "I just thought… I thought it everything was okay. I didn't expect…"

"I know." After a brief hesitation I slid my arm the rest of the way over on his back and gave him a sort of half-hug. It was a bit awkward as I wasn't really a good friend of his but sometimes people just need someone to sympathize. And I sure as hell know Phil wasn't going to. More like say 'Buck up, you've got a season to think of,' and that wasn't going to help at all. See this is the problem with having a secluded camp containing thirty-five men and three women. There's not enough estrogen to go around. Not like I'm supplying much at all. I _am _a professional athlete after all and one of the world's leading tomboys to boot. "Sometimes there's just no way to see it coming."

I glanced over at the boys to see them arguing over their game. From what I could hear Eddie had accused Oliver of hexing his darts to hit the wall instead of the board. Then Oliver used a few choice phrases in describing how Ed didn't need his help to lose. In that moment it struck me that although the celebrity life _looks _glamorous, we're still all just huge dorks like anyone else. Oliver is a workaholic, Ed couldn't take a hint if it was dropped right on his foot, Arnie lost his wife, and me… Well, I'm a clumsy nobody who's got a thing for her best friend. See? All normal people with normal issues. We're all missing the dartboard so to speak.

Arnie will be alright in time. That I know. Like my mother always said, all things pass. Then again what she didn't say was that some things like to cling to your leg and gnaw it for all it's worth. Sure it passes eventually, but you're left with one hell of a scar.

_And this was the night I hugged someone I barley knew. With best wishes,_

_Page Adley_


	4. Phantoms and Semi Death Threats

**Leave It On the Pitch**

**Chapter Four: Phantoms and Semi-Death Threats (or a Normal Day at Work)**

Gods, this was the most unexpected day ever. I can't believe it. Really, I have nothing to describe it. I'll just tell you what happened.

First practice went considerably better than the day before, but I won't bore you with the details. Later, Oliver and I were heading upstairs when Phil called to me.

"Page, can I see you in my office please?" Uh oh. That couldn't be good.

I walked into his office and immediately needed to sit down. I always get dizzy in Phil's office. He has so many pictures of games and posters up and all the movement gets me every time. I kept my eyes trained on the plate on his desk reading 'PHILBERT DEVERILL' until my eyes focused a bit and the nausea passed.

"What did I do?"

"What? Nothing. Well, a few things..." Oh no. I knew it. "But it's not what you might think." He gave me a reassuring smile. "Five long years on the reserve team, impressive instincts, and you came up with the Marseilles offence." I nearly blushed.

"I didn't make it up. Both me and Oliver did."

"Yes, well Wood got a promotion. What did you get?" He raised an eyebrow at me. "Well, you deserve something for all your hard work here. This brings me to my point. We have just become aware that Joscelind is...er...well, she and her husband are going to have another kid."

"She's pregnant?"

"Yes. So obviously she can't play, and we're down a chaser." I knew where this was going. They need a replacement for the year.

"Just for the year," I added.

"Actually," Phil contradicted. "We advised that since this is their fourth kid already and with the amount of time she has been here, maybe it's time for her to retire. She agreed." Oh...my...goodness... My eyes grew wide.

"So I'm not just replacing her?" Phil smiled and shook his head.

"No."

"I've got the promotion!?"

"Absolutely. Welcome to the team, Page." He held out his hand but I jumped up and threw my arms around him.

"Thank you!"

"Hey! Get off. I had nothing to do with it. You're the one who made it happen. If you keep it between us, I've been dying to get you, Wood, and on the team for years. 's a natural and you and Wood play great together."

I rushed out of the room as fast as my legs could take me. Oliver was still in the main hall where I had left him.

"Oliver!" I screamed and leapt into his arms (I really don't think he was expecting that). "Oliver, I got the promotion!"

"What? I didn't know there was one."

"Yes, yes. Joscelind is going to retire so Phil promoted me!" Oliver gave me a big hug (even though he was already holding me up).

"I'm so happy for you." It was amazing. I felt proud and happy and amazement all at once. But then something else hit me. Uh, did I just jump on Oliver? Oh, no...

I climbed out of his grasp and backed up a bit, embarrassed. There was an odd look on his face for a moment then he continued. "This is great. Now we get to play together."

"I know. I can't wait. Hey, I say we train extra hard now!" Oliver's eyes sparkled.

"Now you're talking."

Soon, we found ourselves racing back out to the pitch for the second practice. I beat Oliver this time. Second practice, I was on my top game. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the drive to impress the other pros; I don't know for sure. I don't think I made one mistake at all. That is absolutely fantastic for me.

"So, I hear we have another new rookie," I heard a voice from behind me just before practice began. I turned to see Jimmy Knox, one of the two returning pro Chasers and new Team Captain after Troy Digmon.

"Yeah, that's right," I told him.

"Page Adley, right?" I nodded. He suddenly came closer and walked around me in a circle. "Hmm, not bad, I suppose. You know you're replacing a legend, right? Joscelind was a great player." I agreed. "Are you going to be able to keep up?" He gave me a mocking smile.

"Well, I've been in for her twice, what do you think?" I had played in seven League games in my five years on the reserve. Twice for Joscelind and for Cross, and Three for Knox. He's known as the fearless one; the one who'll try any move, no matter how dangerous. He's also known for doing the most complicated of maneuvers. I think Knox has always had a bit of a grudge against me, since that's my style too, and I stared to infringe on his territory when I was in for the others. In fact, I think I'm the only one who's trained in the Marseilles offence with Oliver so maybe that's something he doesn't like.

"I think it doesn't matter what dumb luck you've had before, you're still going to have to work your ass off to make it here. You're in the pros now. No more easy work." He sneered at me. Well, I guess I am going to have a problem with him.

"I can't wait." I shot a cocky smile at him and mounted my broom.

"Hey, rookie," he called. "You want a challenge?" I saw that look in his eyes. He wasn't going to let me off easy. "Meet us here at ten tomorrow night and get ready to prove yourself." He walked over close enough to whisper to me. "We're a team and need to trust each other. Until you let us know we can do that, you're still a replacement." Damn. This is going to make my life a bit harder. Oh well, I enjoy a challenge. I leaned back on my broom so that I was hovering a few inches off the ground, then circled Knox. Once I was around him I leaned in and whispered in his ear.

"I'll prove it as many times as it takes." At that, I shot off into the air. I don't plan on taking any crap from anyone, not even the Captain.

Knox kept a closer eye on me than anyone else during practice and, like I said, I didn't make one mistake the entire time. I hope he was writhing with fury.

After, at dinner, I explained what happened to Eddie and Oliver.

"What's he gonna make you do?" Eddie wondered.

"No idea," I said. "But whatever it is, it'll be hard. Knox is turning out to be one of the best Captains around. He's demanding, and rightly so. That's what we need to take us to the Championship this year."

"Absolutely," Oliver agreed. We watched as across the room, Knox whispered in the other Chaser, Lyall Cross' ear, then smiled maliciously. Cross nodded but didn't smile. "I really hope he doesn't try to hurt you." Oliver's brow furled with worry. I was used to the expression on his face, but not when it was for me. All at once I was filled with and dread.

"He wouldn't dare. He can't afford to put any one of his players out."

I left dinner to go straight up to my room, but I was stopped by Knox as I was exiting the dining hall. He whispered to me to bring Oliver when I met them the next night. Oh great, drag him into this.

I made my way up the main stairs, heading for my room, I heard someone descending. I looked up to see Joscelind Wadcock, retiring Chaser, her bag slung over her shoulder, walking down the stairs. When she saw me she smiled.

"Hey, Adley, I heard you got my position," she .

"Yeah, I did. I can't believe you're retiring. It's going to be crazy without you around."

"I think I know what you're talking about. I felt the same way when I was your age. You first come here and there's a bunch of great pros that you look up to and learn from, then one by one the years tick by, the pros retire. Soon you'll be one of the top players, and you'll have the reserves and rookies looking up to you. It's a crazy feeling."

"Absolutely," I laughed lightly. "I'm just worried I won't be able to live up to your legacy."

"Ah, don't. I've seen you play. You've got quite a future ahead of you. Just watch out for Knox. He's not too fond of other players when they've got moves as good as him. You'll really have to prove yourself."

"Yeah, I can tell." I looked up at Joscelind for a moment, sad to see her go, even if it meant I got to move up. She smiled softly and nodded, as if giving me her approval.

"Remember, now, you're in a position that I was never in. You're the only woman on the team." She paused for a moment then gave me a pat on the back, and began to walk down the steps again. "Give 'em hell." I didn't know if she meant our team or the others, but I decided to follow her advice all the way.

I went to my room as I had planned, but instead of going straight to sleep, I changed into my workout clothes. Joscelind had inspired me to actually go to weight training like I was supposed to. Most everyone waits until seven thirty, so I got the room to myself a bit.

I wasn't really in the mood to be around a whole load of people while I worked out today. And when I say a whole load, I mean it. One half of our team works out every other day. The other half takes the opposite days. What that means is there are around twenty athletes in the room on any given day (for those not strong in the maths department, that's about forty people altogether; thirty-eight actually, seven pros and thirty-one reserve players). Luckily, I was right in my assumptions. I was just finishing up when the first person came in.

The whole time, whether bench pressing, using free weights, or cardio, I imagined Knox was there watching me, judging me, and occasionally asserting scathing criticism. The thought drove me on and made me train harder than I remember training in a long time. "It doesn't matter what dumb luck you've had before," the phantom Knox whispered in my ear. "You're still going to have to work your ass off to make it here." I put even more force behind my lifting, the pain and fatigue in my muscles forgotten, the drive to prove myself consuming my mind. He was right. He was so right. I'm a pro now. I can't slack off like I might have before.

Afterwards I took a quick shower and headed back up to my room. Just before I got there, Phil caught up with me. Damn it, don't I even get a few minutes in my room?

"Page, I need you in my office again. We're going to go over your contract." Great, Phil's office again. I thought I was going to pass out. It's like reading in a car. How does he stand it?

When we got to the room Oliver and Eddie were there as well. Eddie was swaying back and forth a bit and looking kind of sick. I guess he knows how I feel.

"Well you three," Phil began. "Ready to see your contracts?" We nodded and he passed them out. "It's basically the same as the reserve contracts so we won't bother with the details, alright?"

"No," Eddie stopped him. "I want my lawyer." He laughed when Phil seemed to hold his breath for a moment. "Just kidding Philbert."

"Anyway," Phil continued with narrowed eyes. "The things we need to discuss are practices, games and salary. First of all you will make all practices. If you miss one you will make it up. If you don't you'll be taken out of the next game. Do you all understand?" He paused as we all confirmed. "Now about salary. Page ten of your contracts. I think you'll find a significant increase." Oliver gasped and dropped his contract.

"What is it?" Eddie asked flipping to the page. "Dear Sweet Merlin!" He stared at the page wide-eyed. I wondered what it was that had surprised them, so I looked for the sum.

I mean really, what's the big- OF ALL THAT'S GOOD AND HOLY!!! That can't be right! Is that right!?

"Is that right? That number there? Are you sure it's not a mistake?" Phil assured us it was salary. Twenty one thousand galleons a season. That's like four times what we used to make. That's over 100,000 British pounds, 200,000 American dollars, nearly 23 million Japanese yen. Do you need anymore to understand!? This is phenomenal!

"Do you have a quill?" Eddie asked, hoping to sign as quickly as possible.

"Don't you want to read it over first?" Phil wondered. Oliver spotted a quill on the desk and nearly dove for it as I said, "Don't worry, Phil. We trust you."

"Oh, one more thing. You get a thousand galleon bonus if you make it to the Championship." We stared blankly for a moment then Oliver asked, "Is that all or do you need to tell us more?" Phil shrugged and we went back to fighting over the quill.

Ten minutes later, Eddie, Oliver, and I walked out of Phil's office silently. Eddie went the opposite way from us to his room. Halfway down the hall I paused. "Oliver?"

"Yes?"

"Did that really just happen?"

"I think so." We both looked at each other and began to jump up and down, shouting, 'I can't believe it!' I felt the urge to leap into his arms again but held back this time. Instead, it was him who picked me up, spinning me in a circle. "This is amazing! This is really happening!" After a moment, Oliver set me down, clearing his throat, and apologizing. Damn. For that one moment everything was perfect and then he had to ruin it by feeling all awkward about it.

"It's okay," I laughed. "I completely understand." I then felt the sudden urge to be all sentimental (damn feminine emotions). "Oliver, I just wanted to thank you. I wouldn't have made it this far without you."

"Oh, come on Page. You're a great player-" I stopped him.

"No, I just mean by being my friend and supporting me through everything. I'd have probably gone mad by now if it weren't for a few good friends." He smiled and I stepped in and hugged him. At first he seemed a bit tense, then loosened up and returned the embrace. I felt him lightly rest his chin on the top of my head and listened to him breathe out slowly. You know, he smelled very good. I don't think I'll ever forget it. He smelled freshly of soap (probably straight from the showers) and broom polish.

"You know, Page, I've never had a best friend really. A lot of good friends but never one especially. I suppose you're my first real best friend." That meant a lot to me, not only that he felt that way but also that he actually told me.

"I wish I could say the same to you but I've had a best friend before." I looked up at him. "Still, you're by far my favorite." He laughed and I backed up. "Well, we should get some rest for practice tomorrow."

"Oh...yeah." He said goodnight and turned to head to his room. Still smiling, I went toward mine but found Phil in the hallway looking at me oddly. He walked over and cleared his throat.

"Listen, Page, there isn't anything going on between you and Oliver, is there?"

"No." I wish. "We're just friends." Phil nodded, then stared at me for a moment.

"You have read the rules right?"

"Of course." Five years ago. "Which part are we talking about?"

"The part that says any romantic relationship between players is forbidden. I'd just hate to see two promising young athletes expelled from the league in their prime."

"Oh, I absolutely agree."

_Damn._


	5. To Prove Oneself a Teammate

**Chapter Five:** **To Prove Oneself a Teammate (or Just an Outright Fool)**

_Day Seven: Jimmy Knox is a cold, heartless, sadistic… well, nevermind. _

Gods this was the most frustrating day ever. I awoke around eight forty-five in the morning remembering yesterday's events. You know those days when all you can do is think of the bad things? One of those crappy days when you wish the world would get out of your bleedin' way? A good while when you want to tell everyone who speaks to you to just hurry up and die? Yeah, one of those days... Perfect timing too. That's just what I need with everything that's happened.

All I could think of were the cruddy things from the previous day. Anything that could ever happen between Oliver and me (though not bloody likely) was very, very against the rules. Knox hated me right off the bat, and though I usually take joy in people hating me (because I'm strange like that), it angered me relentlessly today. I mean, not only does he hate me for no apparent reason but I also had an unknown threat facing me that evening at ten o'clock. _To put it plainly, this sucks._

I thought about giving up on the day. I might have gone back to sleep and spared any random person whom I might hurt if they did something stupid to anger me like getting in my way or saying 'hi' or something.

Anyway, I got up, dressed, and looked out the window disdainfully. The sun seemed to be smiling brightly at me, and I think I nearly told it to sod off. I'm not quite a morning person. _How dare the sun shine so brilliantly on a day like this!? Stupid sun..._ Looking back out the window I imagined it mocking me with its unrelenting cheeriness. I am completely off my rocker.

"Beautiful day isn't it?" Oliver asked sitting down at the breakfast table and filling his plate, in the mood to eat for once. My eyes narrowed menacingly, and I had the strongest urge to hiss. I swear, if someone with a top hat passes by and says 'Top o' the mornin' to ya, m'lady' to me (which isn't as unlikely as you think), I'm going to have to hit something.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I grumbled as I plopped down in front of him. Oliver froze, his fork hovering over the sausage he had been eyeing, now looking at me, mildly shocked.

"Why don't you bite his head off while you're at it?" Eddie asked, sliding into the seat next to me. He scoffed and pointed toward my toast, as if leaving a whole piece of it on a plate was a felony. "Are you going to eat that?

"Touch it and die..." I breathed. I guess I came out far more malevolent that I'd expected as Eddie backed up a bit, then stood up and walked all the way around the table to sit next to Oliver instead. Oliver was still staring at me.

"Um..." he began, obviously trying to choose his words carefully. "Not having a good day, Page?" I began to stab my eggs with a fork for no real reason. He had that nervous tone in his voice and I could tell it wasn't about practice.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled setting down my utensil with a sigh. "Yes, I'm having a bad day and I shouldn't be taking it out on you."

"What have you got PMS or something?" Eddie said casually as he poured syrup on his food. _What did he just say?_

"Excuse me?" I felt my face grow red with anger. Never, I repeat, NEVER mention anything about a woman's monthly time. Never! I don't care if she comes out and announces it to the whole world. Pretend you did not hear her. Oliver's face paled. I don't know if it was my anger or the fact that we were talking about my… personal matters.

"What?" Eddie questioned. "I'm just asking. If I've learned anything from growing up with four sisters it was that it's not your fault when you're a tad mean." I looked back and forth between Oliver and Eddie with a growing mixture of rage and embarrassment.

"No," I whispered, trying to quell the sensation. _Maybe I should count back from ten. Ten… Nine…_

"Really, Page it's fine. Just let us know and we'll understand." _I think he's actually trying to be sympathetic_, I thought but it did nothing to stop my bewilderment at his idiocy.

"No, I do not have PMS!" I roared. I suddenly became aware of the volume of my voice and the fact that a good amount of people were now staring at me. I sank down in my chair pouting.

"Alright, just a bad day then…"

"Why is it that when a man is mad he's having a bad day but when a woman is mad she has PMS?" I mumbled, carefully monitoring my vocal level. "Why can't we just be in a bad mood without being menstrual?"

"Merlin Page," Eddie said. "Calm down. I've never seen you like this." True, I very, very rarely have days so bad. At this, Oliver looked up.

"I have," he said. "Once. It's fine. Everyone's allowed a few bad days, _without someone hounding them for it." _He trained his eyes on Eddie. "I'm sure I'm not much of a treat some of the time as well." I sighed and calmed a bit. This seemed to put both boys at ease and they began to eat again.

"You're right Oliver," I said, a slight smile creeping up onto my face. "There are times, like maybe when you wake me up at five A.M. when I'd like to beat you with your own broomstick, but I let it go."

Oliver frowned then his expression evened out. "Feel better now?" he said, referring to the obvious crack I had just taken at him.

I shrugged. "A little bit."

"Honestly Page, there are times I think you near hate me." I had no idea where that had come from. _Great, now I feel bad about what I said to him. Add that one to the list._ I really didn't hate him waking me up that early. In fact I loved waking up to his voice… or fist pounding on my door. _Oh Merlin I wish I could take it back._

"I don't hate you Oliver." _Really. Far, far, far from hate. In fact it's so far from hate that if hate sent it an owl, it'd take like a year to get there. And owls are damn fast._

"I know but…" He furrowed his eyebrows. "Ah, nevermind."

"Well," Eddie said after wolfing down all his food. _Honestly why doesn't he cut out the middle man, and just have a lie on the bench while we pour his food directly into his mouth? It'd be about five seconds quicker._ "I'm out of here before _someone_ decides to go on a hexing spree and takes out half the team." I scowled after him.

"Just try and let things go today, alright?" Oliver said to me. "I know it's hard but for the sake of my safety and those around us, I think you should keep it toned down."

"You're right." I mumbled. Not knowing what else to say, we ate in silence until it was time to head out for practice.

Once when had gotten down to the field, Knox sent the reserves to one side of the pitch and lined the pros up for a pre-practice pep talk (or severely degrading evil rant… same thing). I was so used to my previous job I took a few steps with the larger group before realizing I was to stay with him. That small realization made me smile for a moment but the token was lost as soon as he opened his mouth.

"You've all worked hard to get here. You've put in thousands of hours of practice time over many years." Knox paced once up and down the line. "Well, it's not good enough. You'll have to work harder, fly faster, play better. You will not need to _try_ to be better. You _will_ be better. I am captain because I earned it. I put in the hours and blood and sweat. You will follow my example."

Alan McCarthy, the seeker, rolled his eyes. "You're captain because I turned it down. Don't go all 'High and Mighty' on us." I felt my eyebrows rise. _So, Knox wasn't the first choice, eh?_

"Watch it, McCarthy." Knox growled. _Obviously a touchy subject._ "Or I'll have you doing laps… without your broom."

"Forget you. It's a team, not a dictatorship!" the man yelled.

Knox glared at everyone else. "I suppose everyone's with him?" No one said anything for or against him. "There is no one better fit to run this team than me," he said after a moment. McCarthy and Burke made to protest while Cross and the rookies said nothing.

"Oh please, Jimmy," McCarthy began.

"No," I interrupted. "He's right."

"Excuse me?" I heard Burke say.

"He's right." I repeated. "He's going to push us and make us work our asses off. He'll make us earn the Championship. It's what we need to get there, even if we don't like it." After a moment I heard Oliver agree with my reasoning. Everyone else stayed quiet, meaning, I assume, that they agreed but didn't want to admit it.

Knox narrowed his eyes at me then yelled, "Get to work everyone!" He didn't lie. That practice was the hardest I had ever been through before. Like the kind of difficult that leaves you ready to lie down and stay there forever and ever. But then life usually gives you reason to pick yourself back up again. Unfortunately, I couldn't find much to stand up for.

We did drills that had us taking fifty metre dives, nearly hitting the ground; playing six-on-one games; running various patterns. Knox even called the reserves over to see if we could get the Quaffle past them all. We did twice out of forty tries.

Once it was over I pulled off my gloves and began to walk back up to the building. Just as I started going over plays in my mind I heard someone coming up beside me and I clenched my fists, getting a sinking feeling I knew who it was.

"Remember, Rookie." Knox muttered. "Tonight, here, ten o'clock. And don't try and pull your little ass-kissing routine like earlier."

"What?" I stopped and turned towards him, an incredulous look on my face. "I wasn't kissing your ass! I meant that!"

"Yeah, prove it." Knox crossed his arms in front of him, waiting for my answer. I tilted my head in shock. _What a bloody, horrid, frustratingly-obnoxious ass. Oh hey, it looks like you can't spell obnoxious without… well, yeah you can spell it without Knox but… hey, three out of four letters isn't bad! _

"Fine, you're an arrogant prick and I don't like you very much." I was probably going to get suspended for that. _Very bad idea. Why can't I keep my mouth shut? Why must I always be the one that screws myself over? Oh well, it's true_.

He cocked an eyebrow and gave a slight noise of acceptance. "Well, even if you weren't lying, you're not getting any special treatment. Ten o'clock, _Replacement_. I'll be waiting." At that he turned to walk away, leaving me with my jaw hanging open. _Replacement? Did he just call me Replacement? I worked my bum off for this!_

"Hey, I'm a pro too!" I shouted at him.

Knox spun back around. "A pro on paper, but not in my eyes." _Argh! That man is infuriating!_ I stood in shock just staring at him as he walked away for a long time, after a while sinking down onto the grass and burying my face in my hands, the aches in my muscles catching up with me.

I trudged along to lunch quite a while later. In hindsight I really don't know how long I sat on the pitch alone, just breathing and staring at the grass. I do remember wondering why the grass doesn't try to be anything it's not. It doesn't push boundaries like people do. It doesn't strain or work or cry or hate. It just grows, like it should, and is content with that.

I couldn't be fine with that. I have to keep going. I have to push myself to breaking points, mentally and physically. I have to wish for things people say I can't have. I can't just _be_. Maybe that's my problem.

"What do you mean, the both of us!?" Oliver shouted after I had told him about Knox requesting his presence that night. He really didn't seem too happy about it, did he?

"I don't know what he's planning but I guess he needs help setting up the Chinese water torture or whatever." I pushed my food around my plate. "Still can't fathom why the bloke hates me so much."

"Really," Eddie said, trying to keep the food he was chewing from spilling out of his mouth. "You're quite loveable. All witty and joyful. 'specially this morning."

"I'm glad you appreciate me."

"But what do I have to do with this?" Oliver was saying, seemingly to either himself or the plate of food his head was hanging over. "And ten at night? I have to sleep, you know. I need my rest. How else will I have the energy for practice tomorrow?"

"I'm sure if you didn't sleep for a year you'd still have energy for practice, Oliver." I pushed my plate forward, only half finished, and decided I'd rather fill up on the water I'd lost during practice. Eddie was quick to split my food between Oliver and himself. Oliver barely noticed and just kept on eating.

"Well, maybe if I take a nap right after afternoon practice, I can make up for what I'll lose…"

"Glad to see how supportive you are." I crossed my arms in front of my chest and leaned back. _I'm expecting violence somewhere in the 'mauled by a yeti' category, and Oliver is worried about his sleeping patterns._ _Nice._ He looked up like I had startled him.

"Sorry? What was that?" _Wow. Just, wow. How attentive. _

"Not important," I mumbled before letting my eyes wander the room. Most players had cleared out of lunch already since I had arrived so late. Spiro was on the other side of the room arrogantly running a hand though his hair and sending a smile at a female reserve player. She looked disgusted to say the least. _What a pig._ Three other reserves were grouped not far away, two watching the other animatedly tell a story that looked like it was about going butterfly catching or that mornings practice. It could have gone either way. I looked back at Oliver and was surprised to see he was still staring at me with a doe-eyed expression. "What?" I asked, surprised by his intense gaze.

"I'm sorry."

_Whoa. That was random._ "For what?"

"I'm doing it again."

I shook my head and put my hands out in front of me, signaling him to stop. "Wait. All these vague answers are really confusing me. I'd appreciate it if someone could tell me what it is exactly we're having a conversation about."

Oliver rubbed a hand over his face. "You know, the whole 'my unimportant stuff over your real problems' thing. I'm doing it again."

"Oh Merlin," I told him once I'd caught up with the subject matter. "Don't worry about it. It's my fault, dragging you into this mess."

"Actually, it was Knox," Eddie interjected.

"Exactly," Oliver said. "And you're my friend. Your problems are my problems." He sat up straighter and cracked his knuckles. "And that is why I'm going to be there for you tonight, no more complaints, and we're going to make Knox sorry he called us out."

"Alright, calm down," I said before he could stand up and strike a heroic pose at the lunch table. "Let's just take things as they come. We'll go tonight and see what happens."

Oliver scratched the back of his head and looked up at me. _Aw, how cute! Look at that sweet innocent glance._ I nearly swooned. _No. Remember the rules. _ I forced myself to stare down at the tabletop. "I suppose I could let him off with a mild hexing," he said with a mock-disappointment in his tone. I turned my head back up to see a smile play upon his lips. _Don't look at his lips. I looked at his lips. Damn me._

I opened my mouth to give a witty reply, as per usual, but before I got even a syllable out someone dropped a huge stack of bound papers in front of me. I stared at it for a moment, bewildered.

"What's this?" I tilted my head back to see Cross standing behind me.

"The new playbooks. Here's the beater and keeper ones..." He grabbed one of the gigantic booklets and handed it to Eddie and another to Oliver. "And this last one is your Chaser stuff." He tapped his finger on the remaining stack, the largest of them all. "Knox says he wants everyone to take the afternoon off and study up."

"Alrighty." I said, once I realized what was happening. It was the annual, learn-the-new-plays-front-and-back-time. And they say we're a bunch of stupid jocks. There's a whole load of memorization and physics involved in the game, especially at the pro level. I flipped through a few pages. There was a lot of movement description and then diagrams that followed after, illustrating the plays. They moved along slowly on one page with the technical parts, then faster on the next, showing the smooth finished product. "Fifty nine Chaser patterns!?" I shouted when I saw the index page.

"You know Knox," Cross returned before walking away.

"Hell yeah, I know him, the anal-retentive bastard." Fifty nine patterns and I had to learn every single one and be able to recall them by number. As in one of the Chasers calls 'pattern twenty six' for example, and I'd have to know who's doing what and get every motion spot on. Oh well, I guess I was asking for it, getting the pro Chaser spot on Knox's first year as Captain. Really begging for a beating.

"At least we don't have to go back to practice," Eddie said, hunching back over his plate after he pushed the booklet aside, not even bothering to flip through it. I nodded as I realized Oliver had his nose buried in his already.

"Oliver, calm down. Don't drool on the pages."

He looked up, his eyebrows raised. "These are good. These are very good."

I tipped it down so I could see what he was looking at. Gods, he wasn't lying. Knox may be a right jerk but that man can write a good play. "Eh, not as good as yours," I said anyway. "I say you use a sticking charm to add your notebook onto it and send the thing back to our darling Captain."

Oliver snorted. "He already hates you enough for all three of us."

I shrugged. "Suppose you're right."

I spent a few hours holed up in my room memorizing those darn patterns before emerging back into the big bright world. At least that's what it felt like. In fact, I was surprised the sun was still up by the time my brain crapped out. I thought my left eye had fallen asleep because it kept drifting to the side and unfocusing. So it's either bored by sports or just plain narcoleptic.

As I headed down the hall to the common lounge I tapped the heel of my hand into my head, trying to bring my eye back to life. "Wake up, darn you," I whispered. _Stupid, uncooperative, narcoleptic left eye._

"Page!"

_That's me. Who's talking?_ "Oh hey Ed, what's going on?"

Eddie came at me down the corridor waving an open playbook. "Page, Oliver's… he's uh…" He ran a hand over his hair. "Somewhere in the realm of fury, I wanna say."

I cocked an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

He handed me the playbook. "Look familiar?" _Hmm, let's see…_ _Low swooping pass, fake right, backward pass, and shoot right back to starter… Oh Merlin, it does. _

I snatched the papers from his hand as I felt myself pale. "This is Oliver's triple-shot play!"

"Yeah," Eddie replied, tapping the paper hard. "And it's in Knox's playbook."

"That thieving, conniving…" I trailed off as I caught sight of Phil coming down the hallway toward us.

"How's practice been?" he said in an 'I'm real busy so keep it to small talk' tone. Eddie took a step toward our manager and began to speak in an angry tone. I smacked him hard in the chest with my forearm and shot Phil a smile.

"Great. Working hard, Phil."

He raised an eyebrow and continued, a confused nature to his voice. "Great…"

Once he had turned the next corner I tugged on Eddie's sleeve. "You really think Phil's going to trust us as pros if we're tattling every time someone tries to trip us up?"

He grabbed the playbook from my hands and shook it at me. "He _stole_ Oliver's play, Page. It's a little more serious than name calling."

"Where's Oliver?" I asked instead of arguing with him.

"In his room. When I left him he'd punched his wall."

I pressed my hands to my face. "You left him alone. You know you have to watch him when he gets upset." I pulled my hands down and began to run to Oliver's room, Eddie catching up a moment later.

"I know, I know, but I had to come find you. He wanted you to know." _He wanted me to know? No! This is no time to think about me._

I threw open his door to find him, thankfully, sitting quietly on his bed. His fists were clenched and eyes narrowed dangerously on the wall, but he wasn't doing anything drastic, like choking Knox out or something. Not that he would bring Knox back to his room to choke him, that is. In fact, he'd probably call everyone to the front hall to make a show of it.

"I'm getting really tired of him Page," he told me as soon as I walked in, knowing I knew exactly who he was talking about.

"As am I, rest assured."

His eyes moved up to me. "No reservations now. I'm going there tonight and he's… he'll…"

"I know," I said stopping him. "He's going too far."

"This bloke's a real psycho," Eddie added, entering after me and joining Oliver on his bed. "I mean, at first you're kind of like 'this is a bit out there' but now…" He gave a frustrated laugh. I closed the door behind myself and leaned back on it.

"You know, when my mum used to tell me real life was crazy I never believed her," I said. "Guess that makes me the fool now, eh?"

"It's not crazy," Oliver said. "It's far past crazy; somewhere in the 'I can't believe we're not on the way to the loony bin' category. Straitjacket and all."

"How did he get hold of your notebook?" I asked him as I plopped down on the floor.

"I've been wondering the same thing," he replied, staring back at the wall. "Been going over it in my mind for near an hour; where I leave it; how long for; what spells I've protected it with. I've even taken into account that one time I left it unguarded for a bathroom break but that was only for two minutes and before Knox even got to the camp."

"Maybe it's a fluke?" Eddie piped in. "Great minds think alike and all that jive." Oliver and I stared at him, pondering the plausibility of the idea.

"I thought about that too, gave him the benefit of the doubt." Oliver hopped of his bed and ran to his desk where the pages lie open. I saw his worn notebook there too as I came closer. It became less of a possibility, I thought, when I saw exactly how identical the pages looked. "Check out these measurements, though," Oliver continued, forcefully poking the images with his pointer finger. "Matching down to the centimetres." He looked up at Eddie while I kept my eyes on the drawings of the players, which were swerving out of the way of his finger, silently shaking their fists at him as they went.

"Well, maybe it was a good guess…" Eddie scratched his neck.

"Ed, stop defending him," I whispered. He opened his mouth to protest but shut it again as Oliver leaned closer to study the booklet once more.

"I'm… I'll go study some more. See you guys at dinner."

"Oliver," I said once Eddie closed the door, placing a hand on his back. "Stop looking at it."

"But why… how…."

"I don't know but obsessing doesn't solve anything."

Oliver stood up straight and covered his face with his hands. "This is too much, Page. I don't know how to handle this."

"Nor do I." I laid down on his bed and buried my face in his pillow saying, although muffled as it was, "It's going to be a long night."

At quarter to ten I was heading down the main stairs as quietly as I could, any shadows making me tense up. I'm not sure why. As if Knox would sneak up behind me with a stick or something. I was stopped in my tracks in the middle of the stairs when I saw Oliver standing in the main hall, glancing up. We looked at each other for a moment, a look of assurance passing between us both, before I spoke.

"You set to go?" I asked him and he nodded.

"Hell yes." He had that dangerous look in his eyes. _How dead sexy…No! Be angry! Knox is going too far! Anger. Grr. _

We walked out to the field in silence, sitting down and waiting for what, we did not know. Knox surely but what would happen still lie in the realm of imagination. Pessimistic imagination, albeit. The grass was wet. It had rained through dinner and looked as if it were threatening to do so again soon. Felt so too. The air was seemed heavy with it.

Uncertainty was quickly making itself a theme of my life, and I was beginning to hate it. I just wished for something absolute; something concrete; something that I could count on. I glanced up at Oliver, on his face a becoming mixture of shadows and moonlight. He was always there for me, even if it was just in friendship. At least it was something. I was so lost in my thoughts I didn't even hear the footsteps heading toward us.

"Good evening, Rookies," a familiar surly voice drawled. "Ready for the fun part?" Oliver jumped up and lunged forward so suddenly I hardly had time to catch him.

"You sodding bastard!" he screamed. "Steal my play and pass it off as your own!" My arms tightened around his chest and I felt the grass begin to tear up under my feet as I fought to hold him back. The way he could go from relative calm to violent emotions had always fascinated me, but at that point it was more burden than entertainment. I once told him I was the only woman capable of stopping him. He had smiled and quipped 'whatever would I do without you?' And at that moment when I struggled to keep him from completely tearing Knox apart, cursing as he pushed at me, I heard the worst sound I could have imagined.

Jimmy Knox was laughing. Laughing at the rage Oliver exhibited; laughing at the desperation with which I held him back; just laughing.

It made me pool all my energy into the sole action of placing my hands on Oliver's chest and shoving him backward. As he prevented himself from falling over, his eyes fixated on me in surprise. "Stop it," I hissed. "Put it all aside for a moment and look at the fools you are making out of the both of us." His mouth hung agape at my words and I'm sure he was insulted, but what can friends do when one is acting like a child? Albeit a very, very angry child. "We came as adults, and let's leave as such, with some kind of dignity."

Knox's laughter was subsiding and I had to turn away from Oliver's piercing stare. I saw Cross standing behind our Captain, stony-faced as usual.

"Well, I had been expecting to make the show but that was a lovely addition to the night." Knox crossed his arms in front of himself and put his foot up on a Quidditch chest sitting between the two Pros. I took a deep breath trying to ground myself.

"So what are we going to do to her?" Cross asked. _Ah, so he didn't know!_ I wasn't sure if that provided much reassurance though. I frowned at myself wondering what I meant to prove by that thought as it was virtually meaningless.

Knox smiled. "Let's test her bravery." _Oh Merlin…What does that mean? _He dragged the chest over and opened it up. "All the gear, off with it."

"What?" I asked bewildered.

"Everything: boots, gloves, pads. Leave nothing but your clothes." Oliver eyed him, confused as well. Nevertheless, I stripped off my gear, wanting to prove my 'bravery' that was being tested. Soon Knox knelt by the box and whispered something to the Bludgers, tapping them with his wand. Something was wrong. They had stopped struggling against their bindings. I threw all my stuff down next to him and backed up. I then pulled off my robes so I was only wearing a shirt, pants, and socks which were getting soaked from the wet grass beneath. No pads, boots, gloves, or anything else that could keep me from getting hurt too badly. With a flick of Knox's wand one bludger lifted into the air and the same with Cross.

"Now," Knox said. "Stand over there. Hold your arms out to the side. You're not going to move and you're not going to flinch." He smiled maliciously. "Have fun Rookie." At that, the bludger came rocketing toward my face. Taking a deep breath I got ready for the impact (not to mention prayed to the high heavens and wondered what kind of a psycho they gave the title of Team Captain to). At the last moment it swerved out of the way and missed my face. Well, not completely. It grazed my cheek as it flew by and in that split second I felt the cold iron causing my muscles to tense up involuntarily.

Cross' followed soon after but didn't get nearly as close to my body. It flew under my arm, a whole foot from my ribs. That one didn't have me as nervous, as they get a whole lot closer during games. Hell, we make a game of that in itself sometimes; see who can let it come the closest. It was a dance of sorts, between a player and a ball of iron threatening our well being; a dance of the truly insane as it were.

I could see Oliver out of the corner of my eye fists balled and a look of what can only be described as sheer and utter fear across his face. I could hear the subtle but unmistakable – at least to Quidditch players – whistle of a Bludger displacing air as it rushed toward me. I watched Oliver bite his lip hard as it passed by my calf. Knox's had come full circle and was heading toward my shoulder. I watched it, waiting for it to swerve thinking with each approaching inch that the next would be the time. And then it slammed into my arm. I heard my breath hitch in my throat almost as if it were from far away and then cried out as the pain finally reached me, coupled with the force twisting my upper body in a different direction than my lower, stretching the muscles in my back a bit too far.

"You psycho!" Oliver screamed. "This is sick, Knox!"

"I'm not ready for you to get involved, Wood," the captain said, still watching me.

"Page-" my friend began.

"I'm fine, Oliver," I lied. "Just let it alone." He was torn between listening to me and doing what he thought was right, which I assume would be slugging Knox. He didn't need to lose his job over this. A Bludger to the arm was pretty routine for me, even if only taken out of context for the night.

After Knox had determined my bravery had satisfactorily been tested, and I was made to run laps around the pitch and various other physical activities that involved being on the ground that had quickly turned to mud after it had begun to rain again, we found ourselves in a two-on-two match. This is why Oliver must have become involved, I assumed, but also had a sneaking suspicion that being mocked and degraded in front of someone I cared about in the earlier events had a bit to do with his presence as well.

"Up in the air," Knox had shouted, grabbing my broom and throwing it at my side where I lay soaked in mud and sweat. "Come on then, off the ground." I finally forced myself to stand and stared at him, trying to will the pain away. As the rain began to come down harder I blew the droplets off of my lips and picked up my broom slowly.

His amusement had since washed away and all he wanted to do was push me farther. Oliver was disgusted, I could tell from his expression, at my will to endure the mockery that Knox called a test. Remembering the cocky attitude I had with him yesterday, not wanting to concede to his attempts at breaking, I forced a smile. The rain was coming down in huge droplets, the kind that could fill a shot glass, it seemed, and when my lips parted they rushed in. It poured off of my eyebrows and slicked my hair back. I was soon soaked to the point of feeling weighed down by my clothes. And as the rain ran down my face and I smiled despite the aches in my muscles, I looked Knox dead in the eyes and said, "Yes, sir."

Gods, was he pissed.

In all honesty there are bits and pieces of the match that I cannot remember, possibly due to an elbow to the face early on, courtesy of our much-loved Captain. I remember some blood and some kind of attempt at a sentence including the word 'cobbing' coming out of my mouth one moment but the next I was on the other side of the field with the ball in opposite possession.

I was aiming for the goal where Cross, playing the Keeper, was hovering. Knox was by my side in an instant ready to steal the Quaffle. The next was blank.

I was in the middle of the field going high to follow our captain as he arced toward Oliver at break-neck speeds. I was on his tail and as he slowed to aim, I swooped in front of him grabbing at the red ball. He had it back. Then I stole it again, ducked under him and headed back for Cross. _Blank._ I was next to Cross, being shoved into him, in fact, and before I knew it, Knox had the Quaffle and was halfway down the pitch. I was at midfield when Knox made it to the goals. I could see Oliver settling into position and when Knox threw, it hit the tip of Oliver's fingers then settled into his hand. He passed it to me before Knox could turn back. It was coming toward me and I set to catch it. Twenty feet. Ten. Five. _Blank._

I was back next to Cross, the Quaffle in hand, and he was too far to the left to stop it in the opposite goal. I had the advantage of Cross being an inexperienced Keeper, but Knox had that of being one of the most talented Chasers in the League with much more practical experience. I took a moment to shake my head, knowing the ball would go back to Knox no matter what. It was hurting and I was vaguely aware of a feeling of thoughtless action rather than any kind of strategy. Vaguely being the key word. Somehow I stole the Quaffle at midfield and dipped low, backtracking toward Cross. _Blank._ I was next to Oliver as Knox shot and scored. I hovered for the time Oliver went to get the Quaffle. Knox and I were tied - even though I didn't remember exactly how six of the goals we had together made had occurred - four to four. In our first-to-five game, next point won.

I was watching Oliver catch the escaping ball. Wiping the pelting rain out of his face he had thrown it back to me, when out of the corner of my eye I saw that Knox had pulled out his wand and was pointing it at him. Peeling my eyes away from the Quaffle I turned my head in time to see Oliver go limp and slip off of his broom. _Holy Hell._

Quickly pulling back on my broom I redirected myself toward him. Rocketing straight down, I stretched out my hand toward my friend who was rapidly heading for the ground. _Blank._ He had stopped and I found my hand was the one holding him, but the rain wasn't helping my grip. The mix of water and sweat on his arm and my hand had him slipping away. _Blank._ Somewhere above me, Knox had the Quaffle and was flying for the goals. _Blank._

I tightened my hold on his arm which had at some point been readjusted, but felt my shoulder strain with his weight, as I prayed silently I didn't drop him. Finally, I swooped low and used the momentum to get him over my broom before I headed toward the ground. _I knew I shouldn't have let him get dragged into this_, I chided at myself. _He could have killed him - or at least put him out of commission - from that fall. _His weight against my back was almost enough to keep me from being able to breath, but I had him on the ground a moment later.

I heard Knox land on the soggy ground, his boots sinking into the soil with a squelch, as I rolled Oliver onto his back. As he headed closer, each step coming with an audible noise, a sudden bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating his approaching figure.

"You thick-headed, mindless Rookie! You blew it. I knew you would."

"What!?" I screamed up at him beyond a boom of thunder.

"I said you lose!" He returned, leaning over to get in my face. "I scored, meaning you lost." Cross landed behind him, dropping his broom without care and running to us.

"You knocked Oliver off his sodding broom!" I yelled back.

"And you cost us the match. It doesn't matter who falls; you _always_ think of the game first."

"Jimmy." Cross grabbed his arm. "It's one of her best mates."

Knox pulled his arm free. "I don't give a flying skrewt if he's the bloody Minister of Magic! She's got to learn." He spun back around and looked down at me, narrowing his eyes. There was another flash of lightning in the collective beat of silence. As the thunder followed after, he turned and began to walk back up the field to the building, leaving me behind for the second time that day. Cross stood for a bit longer frowning at Oliver.

"I'm sorry," he muttered before following Jimmy Knox off of the pitch.

Somehow through the utter hate coursing though my veins I had the mind to wonder why Cross listened Knox the way he did. Always struck me as more of a loner than a follower. If he didn't agree with him, going along with it anyway against his better judgment is almost as deplorable as the original intent. It was sad in a way.

I only allowed myself the tears because I knew they'd be indistinguishable from the rain; only allowed them because it felt as if there were nothing else to do but cry in the downpour in the middle of the Puddlemere United Training Camp's Quidditch pitch when my best friend lie unconscious next to me and I had been pushed somewhere beyond my limits by the new and overall sadistic team captain. I mean, what else was there to do? It left me to wonder if I was really cut out for this. After all, I could have been a Healer. I'm sure my mum would have been much prouder of me than she is with me a rising sport star, if even that. But would I really have been as happy there? Day in, day out caring for the sick when I could be out here getting hurt in my very favorite way? It would have been easier to go on with my studies, I deduced. Easier to give up on a dream and forgo the kind of physical abuse it takes to make it in our world. But hadn't I paid my dues? Hadn't I worked hard enough if I've shown Phil I had what it takes to be called Pro?

_Hadn't I enough common sense to stand up and take my stupid ass out of the storm instead of sitting there evaluating my life at all hours of the night while my best friend is passed out on the lawn?_

By the time I had racked my brain for a revival charm, and gotten Oliver and myself (whom I had discovered was much more injured than I had thought) back to my room, it must have been long past midnight.

I caught a look at myself in the mirror and cringed. My lip was split, blood smeared across my chin, and my eye was swelling shut as it turned a lovely lavender colour. Turning to Oliver, I saw him staring at me in concern.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked. I nodded looking down from his piercing eyes. I was ashamed of what I said to him earlier about acting childish. It seemed so petty to me at that moment; that I would worry about how I looked in the eyes of a man I hated and be angry with the man I… loved.

"I'll be fine. I'm a tough bird, remember?" I opened a drawer on my dresser and got out a small tub of ointment for injuries. Sitting down on my bed, I opened it and set the container next to me. Dipping my fingers into the jar, the jelly-like contents crackled but soothed even my uninjured appendages.

Oliver sat close by. "Where'd you get hit?"

"In the jaw," I muttered, the pain throbbing with every syllable. "Left eye, and my upper arm." I applied some of the paste to my jaw and eye. As I rubbed it in the aches lessened and looking over in the mirror again, I was beginning to appear relatively normal.

"This arm?" Oliver asked, fingers brushing against my left wrist, and I nodded. Surprising me, he carefully rolled up my sleeve. Taking a bit of the salve he smoothed it over the forming bruise it was amazing how gentle he was being. I sat and watched unabashedly. He looked up, only once, catching my eyes then looking back down, his face going a bit red. I didn't blame him. It was quite an awkward moment.

_You see the situations I am tortured with?_

"That bloody bastard," he whispered.

"I'm glad he did it."

"What!?" Oliver's hand slipped, leaving a trail of the salve down my forearm.

"I'm glad," I repeated, firmer this time. "It's a good test, Oliver. Now, I'm not too fond of pain but proving myself to the team is important."

"Did you see the whole team there?" he asked, turning himself more to face me head on, agitation clear in his tone. "No, just Knox. You're '_proving yourself_' to him and him alone."

"Well, if that's what it takes-"

"And what about me? I haven't had to do anything of the sort. Neither has Ed." He rubbed his hands on the knees of his trousers, removing any traces of the ointment remaining.

I shook my head, being the stubborn person that I was. "Well sometimes things aren't particularly fair-"

"You think!?" he spat. Oliver sat back and ran his fingers through his hair, something he did when he was annoyed or frustrated – in this case, maybe both. "Are you sure I can't just take one swing at him?" he asked after a long pause, causing me to nearly burst into hysterics.

"Gods Oliver, I'm glad you're so protective of me but I can take care of myself."

He gave me that piercing stare again. "Are you really going to put up with this all season? Perhaps beyond?"

"I don't know," I whispered as I looked out the window, serious this time. "If this was the worst of it, then yes." _I can't believe he's getting so worked up over this. But maybe he's right…_

_No, he can't be. I know what I should be doing and bucking the system has never been the answer. It's fine, really. It can't get any worse than this…right?_

"Sometimes I wonder about you, Page," Oliver said standing up all of a sudden.

"Wonder what?" I looked up at him curiously, returning from my reverie.

"If you're just unique or completely insane."

I gave a small chuckle. "I like to think you have to be a tad insane to go into this line of work."

"True." He walked to my door but hesitated. He stood for a whole minute, maybe two, just facing the door in silence, making me wonder what was going on in that head of his. "Gods, they really scared me, Page," he whispered, not turning back.

"Oliver-" I began.

"I thought they might have tried to hurt you badly." I saw his head dip down toward his chest for a moment before he brought it back up. "I mean like, _very_ badly."

I got up to stand behind him, wrapping my fingers around his forearm. _That lovely, muscular forearm,_ I couldn't help noticing despite how serious the conversation seemed."I was scared too." I whispered. "Thanks for being brave for me."

"I couldn't be anything less for you." He placed his hand over mine and at that second, at that very moment, something inside me jolted. It as though his touch electrified every inch of me, making me want to vomit and smile euphorically at the same time. Closing my eyes, I tried my hardest to ignore it; to make it go away, a bit for his sake, but mostly my own._ Remember the rules._ "If you need anything else, I'm just down the hall." He opened the door, allowing my hand to slip away from him.

A strange thing it is, to be in love. To be going through such powerful feelings and emotions. To all at once feel lost and found, not know which way is up or down. To feel a burning, tireless, unrelenting fire raging in your stomach whenever the object of your affection is near, or even when you think of them. And stranger still, for love to be secret; to go through this alone, without anyone knowing. It's so invigorating, love, but secrets sobering. And even worse now that it's been labeled wrong; bad; dishonorable; generally deplorable.

_Remember the rules._

"Thanks Oliver," I said before I closed my door. Sinking down on my bed. I thought of all the things that were changing. Despite the night's events, I thought most about Phil's words yesterday. It was against the rules. It was wrong. _My heart has led me down the wrong path. I was a fool to ever trust it._ I had worked hard for what I now have. I am a pro. I cannot let stupid feelings of a foolish thing like love threaten that. Not for me, and certainly not for Oliver, who obviously did not feel the same.

He is my friend and will always be, but maybe my feelings are better left unspoken. As for my relationship with Oliver, I need to leave it on the pitch.

_Goodnight,_

_Page Adley_


End file.
